Need
by Disco-Sadistic
Summary: "Lily Evans likes her men miserable, and now it's starting to look like he won't be miserable much longer."  Some people need to be held, cherished, adored.  Others just need to be needed. SB/LE.  SB/RL. Oneshot.


**A/N: **And now, at long last, I actually have something uploaded to . It's not at all along the lines of The Big, Scary Fanfic With No Name, so editing this (it was worse than I thought) was a nice little diversion. Read and review and maybe I'll upload the sequels (and/or the smutty pseudo-prequel, but only if you're very, very good girls and boys.)

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><p>Lately, he's started making excuses as he's leaving her bed. One leg in, one leg out of his trousers, he keeps his hands busy and doesn't look at her when he says, "Sorry, I just ..."<p>

"I know." Somehow, she always finds herself trying to soothe him, even now. He has left her so many times, in so many ways, that this hardly feels like a betrayal. "You just can't sleep here." He is relieved; he rushes out the door without his shirt on. It's her gift to the women of Hogwarts, she thinks a little bitterly. Her freckled cheek tingles where he didn't kiss it. He doesn't kiss her anymore.

He doesn't shave, either, often enough. He doesn't eat six or eight or twelve meals a day. He gives only a cursory glance down the blouses of the girls he passes in the hallway. He might be growing up, except for the way his eyes glow with the madness of a man in love. She can't even number the birds who would die to see that look in Sirius Black's eyes, but she's not one of them. She doesn't think it's for a bird anyway.

Lily Evans likes her men miserable, and now it's starting to look like he won't be miserable much longer. He's running towards the end of his usefulness.

Not that he's not still good in bed: He is. She won't let him go all the way, but his fingers are quick and his mouth is bloody brilliant. A year and a half of these covert meetings has taught him how to get her off in a minute or how to draw it out for an hour. He's taught her things she'll use on her next shag, and things she won't, and things she never cared to know. Mostly, though, he's needed her-to love him, pet him, hold him when he has a bad dream. That's what she's going to miss.

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><p>The next time he comes for her, she doesn't put up a fight. She lets him drag her into a cupboard fifteen minutes before she's to meet James for evening rounds. She lets him hoist her up against the wall so that the rough stone tears at her back and cobwebs settle onto her tidy red bun. Her hands navigate the space between them skillfully. She loosens his trousers and draws him out. Soon he's backing up, letting her down on her knees. No time lost with foreplay. She works him with her mouth and hands, watches him thoughtfully. Just as he is about to climax, she announces with finality, "You're in love with Remus Lupin," which apparently doesn't completely spoil the mood, because the next moment he's finished and she's getting to her feet.<p>

With shaking arms, he reaches for her, but he doesn't deny it. She pushes his hands away. "No, Sirius, it's alright." A kiss on his cheek and she's backing out the door, "Anyway, Potter would have found out eventually. Go be in love."

It's the first time anyone's ever given him permission to be happy. It's the last thing he needs from her.

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><p>Friday evening and Lily's chain smoking in the Gryffindor Common Room. Her scrawny arse perched on the window ledge, she exhales smoke into the crisp autumn sky. Ranks of crumpled filters flank her on either side. Her hair is still gathered in a no-nonsense bun. She hasn't even loosened her tie. It's an absurd picture she makes, sitting in the shadows of a dying fire. James stands in the doorway of the Head Boy's bedroom-his bedroom-and watches her. He feels, rather than sees, her becoming aware of him. "I was up studying," he apologizes, as though he has interrupted something unforgivably personal. "I smelled the smoke, thought you might be Sirius."<p>

"When was the last time you got laid?"

"Er, excuse me?" James remembers the kindness of a woman who smiled so warmly at the Gryffindor first years, the way she welcomed them to the Common Room as though she was welcoming them home. He remembers the patience of a tutor buried in fourth-year texts when she had two seventh-year papers due the next morning. He remembers the efficiency of a Head Girl who could complete duty schedules by herself in under an hour. He remembers the surprise of a bird who didn't really know him when she thanked him for tidying the Prefect's Office after a meeting. He wonders who those people were, and where they went, and if any vestiges of them remain in the Lily who, for all the neatness of her uniform and the rebellion of her smoking, looks suddenly very young. She is all magic and mirrors. He wonders if he'll ever really know her at all.

"When was the last time you got laid?" It takes a long time for her to come out of her thoughts and look at him. Then she tries to explain, "I don't understand how you're so sane. You don't drink. You don't smoke. I would've smelled it on you if you did. I thought you must be shagging someone. It's the only thing I wouldn't notice."

He has learned to expect strange conversation from her at early hours of the morning, but that doesn't make it any less unnerving. He takes a few slow steps forward, as though approaching a skittish animal. "You're feeling overwhelmed." He's not the sort of bloke to sit around talking about feelings. He is a problem-solving sort of bloke. "I can help out more, you know, with Head duties and all."

"No," Lily shakes her head. "Just lonely."

"Oh. D'you want me to sit with you for a little while?"

"No," quite calmly. "Thanks. Get some sleep."

"Sure?"

"Yeah," she stubs her cigarette out on the windowsill, shakes another from the pack. Four left. She frowns. "Go to bed."

James watches her light the cigarette, put it to her lips, and turn her face back to the window. She smokes constantly, hardly moves otherwise. She is not going to change her mind. "Okay. G'night." When she doesn't respond, James goes back to bed.

Lily's glad he isn't Sirius. Sirius never would have believed her shit lie, but that's because Sirius understands about loneliness, and James has never been alone one day in his life. It's the reason James is so okay with needing people-his parents; his mates; her, maybe, if she believes his pleas-and she's only okay with being needed. People who need her don't leave her. By the time she gets around to realizing she needs someone, they're already halfway out the door.

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><p>Saturday morning at breakfast, the Great Hall is buzzing with pre-Hogsmeade excitement. Lily slips Sirius a couple of galleons over porridge. "Fags," she has to repeat herself at least twice before the glassy look in his eyes recedes and he seems to comprehend. "Jesus, Sirius, where's your head?"<p>

He pushes her money back at her, "Get them yourself. I've got a date."

"With-?"

"Yeah."

If her head didn't hurt so bleeding much, she might feel some maternal twinge at the nerves evident in his voice. She doesn't. "He's waited since third year. He'll wait for you to buy my fags."

"Why can't you get them?" Sirius huffs.

"I'm not going."

"Thought you were seeing that bloke who works in Gladrags?"

"Was."

"Evans. Come on. I'll find you a date. Friends don't let friends miss Hogsmeade weekend."

"Well, it's a good thing we're not friends, then, isn't it, Black? Don't forget my fags." Lily's gone before Sirius can work out whether or not to be offended. The outcome doesn't matter much to her either way.

Late afternoon, her cigarettes arrive by owl, bundled up with a handful of chocolate frogs. She takes that to mean the date is going well.


End file.
